Work Text:
Buffy Summers
214 N. Stevenson Hall
University of California, Sunnydale
Sunnydale, CA 93106
Dear Buffy:
I tried to call you on the phone today.
Not too difficult a task, really. At least it shouldn't have been.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and gathered my resolve as I counted the rings and dreamt of all the things I'd like to say to you if given half the chance--
And then you picked up the phone and it was like dying.
You see, I wasn't stupid enough to try you at your dorm. Maybe I should have. Because you weren't supposed to be there, at your mother's.
But you answered...and I couldn't utter a single word past the blazing rush of your voice in my ears.
How wonderfully refreshing to discover that I'm still just as much of a fucking coward as ever. Which is fairly pathetic. But I think you've come to expect that from me at this point.
Funny. It's one A.M. and I'm sitting in the dark with only the glow of a single candle to guide my thoughts. I can almost feel your impatience with this conversation as if you were here, sitting across from me and staring in your usual 'get-to-the-point' manner.
Since you ask so nicely, I will.
I've been meaning to let you know for some time that I've finally settled down here in Los Angeles. Something about the name just spoke to me I guess. Go figure.
Anyway, everything is fine. As much as it can be at any rate. I suppose I should really apologize for not contacting you sooner. But in light of the details surrounding our last meeting, I wasn't sure I could find the right words to say what I needed to say.
I left Sunnydale behind only to find my way into an even more chaotic world of secular indifference and corruption here in the city. Much, much worse than I ever experienced during my days with you there on the Hellmouth. Which I suspect you never thought was possible, but I assure you, it's the truth. I'll say one thing for L.A. -- there's no shortage of bars to fall into. And no shortage of individuals, vampire or otherwise, willing to victimize other people. Reminds me of my New York days, with the wonderfully whimsical quality that only the west coast can impart.
Dealing with these...things, adjusting to the changes, has unfortunately made keeping my distance over the last few months easier than it should have been.
Besides which, I wasn't all that sure you'd want to hear from me. Our current situation is hardly what I would term 'ideal.' 'Screwed beyond repair' seems much more appropriate.
And yet, the events of the last few days convinced me that it was finally time to break the silence.
For one thing, I bumped into Cordelia under rather unusual circumstances. Maybe you've heard already. If not, she sends you her best. Of course, you know that's a blatant lie on my part, but it's a well-meant one nonetheless.
Let's just say my meeting her here was more than a little...disconcerting. On the one hand, seeing her so far from home was an obvious reminder of my separation from you. Then again, in a city of twelve million people, it's nice to run across the occasional familiar face, even one as shallow and self-absorbed as Cordelia can be at times.
Luckily, she seemed happy enough to hook up with me again later. Which makes perfect sense when you consider that she was in the process of having her throat ripped out by a vampire named Russell Winters.
In the end, the good guys prevailed. We even got a nice piece of closure when the evil villain turned up medium rare after a tad too much exposure to the afternoon sun. Oh, yeah. That ozone layer just gets thinner and thinner every year.
So, score another point for Truth and Justice in the war of attrition against the soulless hordes here in the hell on earth that we laughingly refer to as Los Angeles.
At least Winters had an excuse for his inhumanity. That is to say, he wasn't human.
I only wish I could say the same for the collection of business partners, social contacts and legal advisors who made his 'alternative' lifestyle possible. But that's really a story for another day. If nothing else, Cordelia can tell you all about it next time she cruises back into one of your old haunts there in Sunnydale.
That's *after* she and Doyle finish rearranging my life to suit their own purpose.
Speaking of Doyle, I don't think I've seen fit to mention him yet. An oversight he wouldn't soon let me forget. I met him just a few nights ago after he had the good grace to break into my place and introduce himself.
In addition to his rather formidable talents as a home invader, he's also an accomplished storyteller and general pain in the ass.
You know, it's strange, but I had the same feeling when I met him as I did the first time I saw you -- like I'd known him forever somehow. Which is weird because I have to admit you two don't have a whole lot in common. Doyle looks and acts like a total hoodlum -- and a colorful one, at that. He's about five-foot- eleven, dresses like he picked up his clothes at the local thrift store and I'd say that judging by Cordy's reactions, he's also pretty easy on the eyes. Dark hair, blue eyes, map of Ireland all over his face.
And a five o'clock shadow that would make his daddy proud.
You see, he's also a demon -- half human on his mother's side, which makes for the most interesting cocktail party conversation. Only in Doyle's case, he's far more concerned with the cocktail than either the party or the conversation.
Anyway, he claims he's been sent to...guide me. Or something. By 'the Powers that Be' as he calls them, whoever the hell that is. We seem to lack some essential clarity on that point.
Thing is, Doyle is the beneficiary of some moderate-to-high voltage nightmares. The kind that involve blood, carnage, injury...your basic mayhem, really. He considers it his job to have the vision and tell me about it in as scant detail as possible. Then, he sends me off into the fray with a charming smile and a great big pat on the back. I'm sort of his "champion of the hapless human race" as he'd say.
I haven't quite figured out yet why he's wasting his time with me, though I'm pretty sure it has something to do with a deep, terrible secret in his past. Some kind of evil deed or ignorant mishap. Or maybe he just stiffed one too many people last year after the Irish Derby back in County Wicklow.
We're all running away from something. Some of us faster than others. In this, Doyle is no more exception than I am.
And that brings me to the overall point of this letter, now that I've digressed to the point of boredom.
I've had a lot of time to think since I left Sunnydale, Buffy. And with each and every passing night, I've come to accept that leaving the way I did wasn't necessarily the best way of handling things.
That doesn't mean I regret my decision to go.
But I know in my heart that I owe you an apology -- not only for the manner in which I bid you farewell, but also for all the things I did and didn't say when it was most important.
You of all people should know by now that I'm more than a little vocally challenged when it comes to putting how I'm feeling or what I'm thinking into words. Believe me, writing makes it only marginally easier.
I wanted to tell you so much more about my reasons back on the night of your prom, but the truth is, you looked so beautiful I just couldn't think straight. All my carefully contrived reasoning literally flew out the bloody window as I held you in my arms and contemplated the full extent of my impending loss. At that point, I gave up any and all hope of approaching our parting in a calm or rational manner. There was no way. My only hope of doing what I knew was the right thing was to put as much distance between us as humanly possible.
And the next time we met, you came off so harsh I could hardly see past the bitterness in your eyes, even though I knew I deserved every single bit of it.
Then along came the Faith-stalking/Mayor-ascending scenario. And the whole deathbed thing. Toss in the fact that I let myself commit a near-total breach of trust in our relationship and you'll see I never really had the chance to get into this properly.
I never really thanked you for that last thing, did I? How exactly *does* one say 'thank you' for one of the most mind-blowing, liquidly beautiful instants of their entire life? I'm not sure, but there should be a way -- even if you can't understand the occult nature of vampire appetites. I guess it's just too far beyond the realm of human comprehension for me to even try to explain.
It doesn't really matter at this point anyway. Because the fact remains, you *did* save my life at great risk to your own. And forget the Slayer physiology bullshit. Don't think for a second I don't know the last-minute transfusion at the hospital was the only thing keeping you from dying.
That's a debt I don't think I'll ever be able to repay. Chalk it up to yet another item in the long list of sins I have to ask forgiveness for.
This letter is really a kind of penitence in itself, so to speak. Baring my soul this way is only slightly more fun than strolling down the street at high noon carrying a sparkler in each hand.
But what matters most about this exercise is that I want it to serve as an explanation for you, Buffy. And I hope you'll understand in the end that I never meant to hurt you as much as I did.
You remember those wild and wacky days in the mansion after I came back from the Bad Place? I never told you this, but my first coherent thought after I returned was that I wanted -- no, needed -- to find a way to absolve all the sin and cruelty. To finally have a chance to walk with you in the light again. When I saw that you were there, despite all the pain I'd inflicted, I actually thought it might be possible. Because if you could forgive me for all the things I'd done after I changed, what else did I need?
But that was too easy.
Something else was happening, you see. Instead of finding my way out with you, I began to move deeper and deeper into the darkness.
I know you think you understand these things, Buffy. That you believe it's enough to overcome the difficulty through nothing more than pure strength of will. But you can't possibly comprehend what it's like to be me -- to live every waking moment under a crushing burden of shame and regret so powerful it decimates the spirit and lays waste to the senses.
And I deserve that onus. Believe me, nobody understands the responsibility better than I. Responsibility for so much destruction you can't even imagine -- things that I'm both unwilling and unable to tell you about. Frankly, I don't think I'd ever *want* you to know it all. Some knowledge isn't worth the price you pay for it.
All I can say now is this:
My life consists of an endless journey through a void so thick, you can't see in it. That's who I am. I don't know how to be anything else anymore. Each day, it's all I can do to turn my back on those empty spaces. And the worst part is, I know in my heart that I won't be able to hold out forever. Not unless something changes.
I *have* to find that something. My soul's survival, as well as a lot of other people's, depends on it.
Buffy, when we were together, *you* were the light in my darkness -- the one thing that kept me sane in a completely insane world. You grounded me. You helped me stick to the true path. You made me love you just because of who you are and what you believe in.
But my faith in you also proved to be my undoing. Ironic sometimes how the one thing we need the most can ultimately kill us. And that's what was happening between you and me. You were strong, but not strong enough to halt the inevitable progression in my spirit.
You might well be one day. But you aren't now and neither am I.
How can I possibly find the words to explain what was going on? That I was pulling you down into a Hell of my own making? That the signs were always there...early on, and then...later...when the evil became devastatingly self-evident.
I suppose I was too blinded by the selfishness of my love and desire for you to see it.
Now, finally, I understand that you can try to deny the darkness -- but you can't deny the truth. And the truth was, my obsession would have eventually destroyed us both.
It took me a long time to accept that I can't do that. Maybe too long as it turned out.
I couldn't let you continue to walk with me in that place. I'd lose you in it. And I'm not willing to do that no matter how badly my soul begs for it.
God, how I wish you were here with me right now so I could look into your eyes and tell you all these things and somehow make you understand.
You know, the night before we split in that horrible scene down in the Sunnydale sewers, I had a dream about you.
I dreamt that we were standing together in a vast cathedral, on the steps, at the altar to be married.
Voices were hushed, the light was like magic. We exchanged our rings, the customary vows. And when I kissed you, it was like an epiphany for me. I'd be hard pressed to ever find more meaningful evidence of my own happiness.
And I think we both know what that means.
Because when we walked down the aisle towards the gateway of our transformed existence, it was *you* who was consumed by the light. All I could do was watch in hopelessness and desperation as you burned to ash and gone before my very eyes.
Whether I wanted to believe it or not, that dream was a turning point, Buffy. Proof that I couldn't deny the depths of my own self-hatred any longer. The fundamental belief that I would be the one to destroy you had invaded even my dreams.
Evil has a way of doing that, you know. It sneaks up from behind, and you end up taking it right in the throat when you least expect it.
Bottom line though, there was no escape from the inevitable consequences of our continuing association. It was a death sentence for you. And I managed to convince myself that a clean, sharp break was the only way to prevent the end result from poisoning everything we'd ever meant to each other.
It's very important to me that you listen to what I'm saying now, Buffy. Because this is the only justification I have for my somewhat heinous treatment of you after that.
All those things I said and did to hurt you so badly in the aftermath were only a reflection of the pain I was intent on inflicting upon myself. Seeing you hurt made me suffer so much more.
You're still too young to understand the twisted kind of validation one receives from self-inflicted wounds. Maybe you never will. But this, like so many of the warped maneuvers that characterize our daily existence, is a principal truism of the human condition. And I suppose it's fitting in light of my past sins that this one characteristic is what binds me most strongly to what remains of my shattered humanity.
Does what I'm saying make *any* sense to you, I wonder? Probably not. I've always had somewhat of an exaggerated view of my own importance in other people's lives. Maybe it never affected you as deeply as it did me.
But something very important you need to get out of all this, if you don't see anything else --
It was never about you. Only myself. It was me and the oblivion I would have led us to. Willingly
Alone, in the dark, I often look to others to be able to illustrate that point for me. I don't know where your studies may be taking you these days, but if you get the opportunity, head off to the library and look up the poetry of Blake sometime.
A garden of love filled with nothing but graves is an appropriate metaphor, I think. Those words and the images they evoke have gotten me through many a quiet night here, knowing I did the right thing.
The only thing.
That may sound selfish and borderline condescending, but remember, neither you nor I were ever given any choice in the roles that fate ordained for us.
Nothing just 'happens' in this life. It's all part of a plan.
And I've dedicated myself these days to finding out exactly what that plan is all about. I think Doyle is part of that agenda. Apparently, Cordy is meant to be as well.
They've been put into the path of the tornado for now. I only hope we can all survive the experience intact.
Believe me when I tell you that I pray for the time when our destinies might also find themselves intertwined again -- even if can't be in the same capacity as we've fought for so compellingly in the past.
We were meant to walk together for a while, Buffy. But your future lies along a different path now. Embrace that. Live your life the way you want to within the confines of those things you can't control -- with all the struggles and the difficulties it entails.
And know in your heart that as bad as things may seem for you at times, your rewards will be correspondingly greater for the triumphs you achieve.
That's called 'hope,' by the way. In my case, it's all I have left.
I do hope with all my soul that you and I will one day be allowed to make those kinds of sacrifices together -- even if it's only for a brief time. And with every minute of every hour of every day, I hope you can find it in your heart to excuse me for the mistakes I've made with us. Your forgiveness means more to me than I can ever express.
I'll leave it at that for now. I think it must be enough. The sun will be up soon, and time for me to pack things in for yet another day of endless meditation and reading. I'm doing Dante these days -- all three Books of the Divine Comedy. Let me tell you, the Inferno is just packed with laughs once you've actually been there to get all the inside jokes.
My parting wish is for this letter to find you safe. Safe and...happy...with all the strange and wonderful pursuits your new life has to offer at the university.
God help me, but I wish I could be there to see it. I miss you more and more with each passing day, Buffy. It's an ache in my soul more devastating than even the thirst and it hurts me more than I ever thought possible.
I promised myself I wasn't going to pull a Bridges-of-Madison- County like this, but I can't seem to stop writing the words.
I miss your voice. I miss your smile. I miss the sparkle in your eyes when you're looking at me as though I've completely lost my mind. I miss the scent of Sunflowers and Ivory soap lingering on my clothes after we've spent the night together. I miss the brush of your skin beneath my fingertips and the bittersweet tang of your lips against mine. I even miss that weird, disheveled thing your hair does after you've been asleep for a while.
I miss your love.
Whatever else you do, make sure to keep it warm and safe for the right guy when he eventually comes around.
And remember, I'll be thinking of you always...
-A
Letter posted by first-class mail two days later.